“That sounds wonderful. Do you need any help?”
“No, I think I can handle it. Go sit in front of the fireplace, I’ll be right back.”
Sydney sat with her knees pulled to her chest, soaking up the radiant heat of the fire.
“Here’s your hot chocolate, my love.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir. Care to join me?” Sydney patted the floor next to her.
“Absolutely.”
They held the warm cups between their hands.
“So, what did you get me for Christmas?” The flickering flame painted her face in orange and red hues.
“Not until midnight, I told you.”
“Oh please, just one.” Sydney placed the mug on the coffee table. She began to kiss his neck.
“No, not until midnight, now stop.”
“Please.” Sydney began to rub the back of his neck as she whispered in his ear. “Please,” she stretched out the word.
“Please stop.”
Her hands traveled down his legs. She began to rub his thighs. Sydney flashed her green eyes. Paolo kissed her. The two undressed. The fire warmed the two naked lovers as they rhythmically moved in song with one another. The sexual tension of the evening released, they fell asleep in each other’s arms as the glow of the red burning embers highlighted their bodies.
As the heat from the fire diminished, silently they awoke. “What time is it?” Sydney asked, her voice sleepy.
Paolo rolled over and searched for his watch amid the strewn clothes. “God, it’s cold in here.”
“I can tell,” she replied. “Shrinkage.” She stared at his groin.
“Not funny.” He found his timepiece. “It’s ten past midnight.” Paolo leaned over and kissed her. “Merry Christmas, Sydney.”
“Merry Christmas, Paolo. Let’s get dressed before more shrinkage occurs.”
“Ha ha.”
They dressed and sat together on the couches. An assortment of colorfully wrapped presents lay neatly under the tree, stacked according to whom Paolo was going to visit on Christmas Day.
Sydney gathered the gifts. “You first.” She put them on the coffee table.
He opened his gifts, in a slow, methodic way, teasing her with his slowness.
“Gee, you’re like an old lady. Do you think you can open them a little faster? I’ll be old and gray by the time you finish,” Sydney quipped.
“Yes, dear.” He continued to open one corner at a time, and then suddenly, in a fury, he ripped open the packages. Paolo threw the Christmas paper at Sydney.
“You are such an ass.”
“Thank you,” Paolo said with a smile. He sat back and folded his arms behind his neck. “That fast enough?”
“Yes,” Sydney rolled her eyes. An assortment of cookbooks, a couple of shirts, a scarf and a picture calendar of Italy lay before him. Sydney reached down and handed him Mario Batali’s cookbook, Simple Italian Food: Recipes from My Two Villages. “Honey, read the inside cover.”
“Okay.” He read aloud. “‘Paolo—to a great chef, I hope to meet you soon. Mario Batali.’ Wow! Thank you. I love the way he cooks. What did he mean, ‘I hope to see you soon’?”
“That’s the best part. He’s going to personally cook for you and me at his restaurant.”
“Babbo?”
Sydney nodded her head.
“Excellent, when can we go?”
“I have his number. We just have to coordinate schedules.”
With enthusiasm, Paolo said, “Thanks, what a present. I can’t wait.” He kissed her and then pointed to her presents, “Now it’s your turn.”
With excitement, she began to open her gifts. “Paolo, this is beautiful.” She held the red cashmere sweater to her body. “Looks like the right size.”
“Should be, your daughter helped me.”
“And the Rolex watch…absolutely gorgeous.”
“You forgot this one,” he said, handing her the silver foil-wrapped package.
“Another present?”
“Nothing special. I thought you’d like this,” Paolo said casually.
Painstakingly she unwrapped the present. Paolo’s pulse began to quicken. She opened the black velvet Harry Winston case. Stunned, she stared at the ten-carat fifty-diamond tennis bracelet. Tears fell from her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Paolo said.
“Oh, I’m fine. This one caught me by surprise.”
“Do you like the bracelet?”
Sydney nodded. “Thank you, thank you so much, this is beautiful.”
“Well, try the damned thing on,” Paolo said, a huge grin on his face.
Paolo took the bracelet and placed the diamonds around her wrist. The brilliance of the precious stones sparkled in the glow of the fireplace, matched only by the brilliance of her green eyes. He wiped the tears from her face and kissed her.
Sydney wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear, “How I love you. I love you so much, thank you.”
They sat on the couch while Sydney gazed at the bracelet. Paolo read Mario’s book.
Sydney yawned, “I’m really tired.”
“Me too, let’s go to bed. It’s already one-thirty.” They walked to the bedroom, undressed, kissed each other and fell asleep.
As the sun rose, the evergreen trees were draped in fluffy white snow, carried away as wisps by the cold winter winds into the blueness of the December sky. In the distance, three deer roamed the grounds. Doves cooed in the crisp morning air. Paolo awoke, Sydney’s head upon his chest. He gently moved her, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “I love you.” He walked to the bathroom, showered, and went downstairs to cook her breakfast.
Paolo shook off the nagging headache. I must’ve slept wrong. The ache went away as he began to cook. Sydney entered the kitchen wearing one of Paolo’s turtleneck shirts and a pair of his socks, her shapely legs bare. Paolo looked up to see her standing in the doorway. His heart skipped a beat.
“Good morning. Wow, you’re sexy. Can I make love with you right now?”
“No. I’m starving. What are you cooking?”
“Darn, I was hoping for a little morning delight.” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“Do I have to remind you, you’re not twenty-five anymore?”
“No kidding, but the thought of making love with you…well.” Paolo’s voice trailed off.
“So, what are you cooking?”
“I’ve made your favorite, eggs Benedict.”
“I can’t wait.”
After breakfast, they cleaned the kitchen, made their Christmas phone calls to their children, showered, and dressed. Then they sat by the French doors, holding one another and gazing out over the snow-covered park-like setting. Paolo seemed preoccupied.
“What’s troubling you? You seem lost in thought.”
“I was just thinking about you and me—the time we wasted when we weren’t together.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Yes. I don’t understand why I’m just troubled today.” He paused. “We’re together now, so I’m happy today,” he said, less than enthusiastically.
“I love you so much, Paolo. I’m in your arms now, and the past is the past. I can’t wait for the day when I’ll wake up next to you for the rest of my life.”
“I can’t wait, either,” he said.
Together they went to ten o’clock Christmas Mass and then went their separate ways.
New Year’s Eve came and went. They celebrated the holiday together with Rio and Lisa. They fell into a comfortable relationship; each understood the other’s needs, wants, and desires—at least for the time being.
CHAPTER 48
The falling snow blankets the trees in the twilight of the evening
A fire blazing in the fireplace, two candles burning
Strangers no more
Wrapped in a blanket, alone at last
For a moment in time, a love satisfied
Evening turns to night
Night to morning
Embraced by the love of one another
You and I
APOCALYPTIC VISIONS CONTINUED to plague Paolo. His Journal was now halfway full of the future tragedies that would befall humankind, both natural and man-made. He kept the secret of his journal to himself, only to be divulged when the time was right. As he thumbed through the pages, one vision began to haunt him.
People in the streets milled about. It was a normal day. The image was in black and white. A mother and her child walked hand in hand. A slight breeze blew a scrap of paper into the street. The morning air was crisp, a few white clouds moved to the east. A car horn honked as two men ran across the busy intersection. A young woman walked out of Starbucks, a grande cappuccino in her hand. An Asian man opened the door to his vegetable market, while another opened a kiosk that sold sunglasses and cigarettes. The dream turned to vivid color. People walked in slow motion. A bright white flash erupted from a skyscraper. A rushing dark cloud immersed in a funnel of fire flew into the morning air. A massive wind tore down a bridge that connected the city, while the river below boiled. An immense heat swept through the streets. The scorching temperature incinerated those around him. A mushroom cloud hung over a city destroyed.
He gazed out his library to the snow-covered grounds. It was the second week of February and southern New England had just been pounded by a nor’easter. The roads still covered, Paolo stayed home. For whatever reason, his mind transported him to Dr. Colin Payne.
Payne sat at his kitchen table, talking on a satellite phone. “Good. Where is he?…You’re sure he’s the plant from BOET?…What do you mean, you don’t know?…I don’t care if you leave him on death’s doorstep. I want some answers, and I want them now!” Payne slammed the phone down. He picked up another phone and dialed. He spoke in Russian.
Paolo shook his head. Then the vision came to him again, but this time there was no mushroom cloud; the people of the city walked in peace.
“Rami.”
“Paolo, how are you today? I hear you’ve got some snow up there.”
Paolo sensed a note of hesitation in Rami’s voice. “Sure do. We have a problem.”
“What’s going on?”
Paolo filled Rami in on the vision and his remote-view session of Payne. “Rami, email me a picture of our operative…” Paolo stopped in midsentence. “Shit, Rami, it’s Giacomo.”
“Yes. We know where he is, Paolo, our people are on the way. Paolo…?”
Paolo ended the phone call as tears streaked down his face. “Hang in there, son.”
His eyes glazed over; his mind transferred him to where his son was being held captive.
He easily recognized Giacomo, sitting next to a man he didn’t know. Both men were stripped of their clothes, all but their underwear. Their mouths were duct-taped, their bodies strapped to floor-bolted chairs. Their heads swiveled on their shoulders like bobble-headed dolls as their interrogators pummeled them. They were in a darkened room. A ray of sunlight through the closed drapes and a lamp on a table highlighted the tools of torture. The smell of human excrement hung in the air. Street noises could be heard in the distance. The walls behind the chairs were splattered with blood. The two Russians took turns battering the man Paolo didn’t know.
“Tell us what we need to know or you will end up like your friend,” the man said in a heavy Russian accent to Giacomo. He reached up and pulled the duct tape from Giacomo’s mouth. His eyes on fire, Giacomo tried to spit at him.
The bruised, battered face of the army major stared in disbelief at his captors. How he wished he could speak, but his vocal cords were bruised. If he could have, he’d have said, “When I get out of here, I’ll kill you, you sons of bitches.” But he couldn’t utter the words. The pain from his broken cheekbones forced a soft moan. Paolo walked past the two Russians toward his broken son. Leaning over, he whispered, “It’ll be okay, son. Dad is here.” He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Giacomo jumped at the touch, because he saw no one. Paolo turned around. The two men sat on a desk, smoking, as Giacomo twitched in agony. One threw his cigarette butt at him. “Let’s get this over with,” he said to no one in particular. Giacomo’s eyes were swollen shut but he heard the prelude. Wind rushed past his ear as the baseball bat slammed into his shoulder, shattering bone and muscle. A searing pain traveled through his right arm and up his neck. He gasped for air. The end was near. Paolo watched helplessly. Where the hell are they? Giacomo’s head fell as he lost consciousness.
A two-way communication device squawked a staticky warning to the two murderers. The words were simple and to the point: “Get out.”
“Let’s go,” said the Russian the table.
The torturer, his mind on his soulless act, bent over and wiped Giacomo’s splattered blood off his face, then said, “What?”
“They are coming! We have to get out! Shit, let’s go!”
“Let me kill this bastard first.”
“We don’t have time.”
“I’ll clean up. You go.”
“We don’t have time.”
“Go! I will be right behind you.”
He ran up the stairs and escaped the building. Paolo followed, trying but failing to grab the bastard. Furious, he made his way back to the torture chamber.
The Russian had pulled Giacomo’s head back and was about to spit in his face, when a loud, thunderous noise shook the room. It went dark with smoke. Stunned, the killer dropped to the floor and reached for his gun, but found he couldn’t move his arm—it felt like someone was stepping on his hand, but nobody was there. Three BOET members burst into the basement. Infrared headgear in place, they swept their laser-sighted rifles as they searched for the two Russians. The savage torturer saw the sweep of the light of death and tried to lay still. Then, from nowhere, he felt a kick in his side and lifted his head in pain. A red beam of light centered on his forehead. The final sound he heard was the swish of a neatly placed fifty-caliber bullet entering his forehead and exploding through his occipital lobes in a mist of blood, brain, and skull.
The lead BOET member spoke, “Site secured. Extracting the major.” The US Black Operations Elite Team rescued Giacomo and the body of the other man. They left the dead Russian extremist behind for the FBI to dispose of.
Paolo opened his eyes, reached for the trash bucket, and violently vomited. Stunned and trapped in his house, he sobbed. His satellite phone rang.
“Paolo, we have your son.”
Paolo tried to stop crying. He sobbed, “Thank you, Rami. I saw it. Who was the other man?”
“That was our operative. We sent Giacomo over to get him when they were ambushed.”
“Where are you taking Giacomo?”
“To Bethesda.”
“No. I want him here at Yale.”
“Can’t do that, Paolo. We have to protect him. It will be best. I’ll send a plane to pick you up.”
“Don’t need your plane! I’ve got my own. I’ll be down there in a couple of hours. Make sure I get in to see him, General. I don’t want any bullshit!”
Paolo slammed the phone down on the desk. His cell phone rang.
“Hello,” his voice angry.
“Uh-oh, someone’s in a bad mood. What’s the problem?”
Silence. “Paolo, Paolo, are you there?”
“Hi, Sydney. I’m having a bad day.” Then like a cascading waterfall, Paolo took the risk and spewed out the story of what had happened to Giacomo.
“Oh my God, Paolo. Is he alright?”
“I don’t know. I’m heading down to Maryland in a couple of hours.” His head pounding, he rubbed his temples.
“Who did it?”
Then, like a volcano, he erupted. “Who did it? I’ll tell you who did it. Good old Dr. Payne. That miserable shit should drop dead.” Paolo’s face was red with seething anger. “Let me tell you something…” Suddenly he stopped yelling. An eerie silence replaced the words of disgust.
“Paolo, relax. This is not the Paolo I know. Am I speaking to s
omeone else?”
“No.”
“Paolo, I know that name. Payne. Doesn’t he work for the government?”
“Yep. I can’t get into it. Maybe another day.”
“Another day? Paolo, your son will be fine. Why are you so angry? I’ve never heard you like this.”
There was another long pause. “Paolo?”
“Sydney, my son was almost killed. And I saw it and I could do nothing about it.”
“You were there?”
“No…not really.”
“Paolo, you’re not making any sense. Are you alright?”
“No, I have a monstrous headache.” Paolo’s words and anger were so uncharacteristic of his personality. “Do you understand, Sydney? I couldn’t do anything about it. They have no concept of truth. The bastards look you in the eye and lie to your face. The sanctimonious sons of bitches! They should all rot in hell.”
“Who are you talking about, Paolo? You’re starting to scare me.”
“I’m sorry, Sydney. I’m really sorry.” Paolo tried to calm down. “Remember the story I told you about me when I was a child and the clairvoyance?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Dr. Payne was the doctor who tested me.”
“Oh, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Why?” Sydney’s voice was puzzled.
“I have my reasons.”
“They are?”
“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Oh.” Paolo sensed the hurt in her voice. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“Thank you. But no, it’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“I have to go, Sydney. I’ll call you when I get home. And Sydney?” his voice hollow with resignation.
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
“Call me when you get home,” she said coldly.
“Yeah, no problem,” Paolo hung up the phone in disgust. “She can’t even tell me she loves me.”
CHAPTER 49
PAOLO CALLED TONY to see if the plane was available. By The time he arrived at the Key Air Hangar, the G-V was waiting with the engine running. Snowplows made a final sweep of the runway as Paolo drove his car onto the ramp. He stopped just short of the aircraft, jumped out of the Jaguar as if he were twenty years old, and two-stepped the stairs. Within five minutes, the aircraft roared into the Connecticut skies, leaving Oxford airport behind.
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 22
