by Steve Richer
“I have it all worked out. Come with me, we’re going for a ride.”
~ ~ ~ ~
They drove down to Little Italy. In addition to having a safe house he had a safe car. This one wasn’t borrowed from anyone. It was his, but under a fake name. He was sure he wouldn’t get spotted with it.
They parked on Mulberry Street and traveled the rest of the distance on foot. They found an old tenement with a pizza place on the ground floor and went upstairs.
“Hey, long time no see,” the guy who lived there said as he let Zhirov and Boomer inside.
Zhirov had never known his real name. He went by Fuzzball and he claimed to be the best hacker in town. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but he’d always been reliable.
The walls of the apartment were covered with neon beer signs and at the moment they were the sole source of illumination. It almost looked like a nightclub. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures were lined up on shelves and the floor was littered with orange crumbs of Doritos.
“I have a job for you.”
“Look, man, I’m busy right now. I’m about to go on a Gears of War all-nighter and…”
Zhirov shrugged. “I only need you for a small job. You need to track a phone for me. Just tell me where it is.”
Boomer grinned. The plan was genius. Zhirov remembered the little bitch putting Ridge’s phone in her pocket. If they found the phone, they would find her.
If they found her, she was dead meat.
“I don’t know, man…” Fuzzball began.
Zhirov produced a baggie from inside his jacket. It contained eight Rush-K pills.
“You help me and I help you get the best high of your life.”
It’s was Fuzzball’s turn to smile.
Chapter 49
Dockside Ironworks was no longer in operation, but everyone still referred to the old name. As a matter of fact, now that the factory had been demolished, the condo tower that was being erected on the site was going to be called by the same moniker.
Long Island City was the westernmost community in Queens, just across the river from Manhattan, and as such it was being gentrified at lightning speed. The old industrial neighborhood was giving way to high-rise buildings and trendy yuppies.
Donnie could see the appeal. The view of Manhattan was breathtaking, especially now that it was dark. They could glimpse the beautifully lit skyline over the new buildings nearby.
The construction site was just off Newtown Creek and it was deserted. The upcoming condo structure was mostly scaffolding and steel beams at the moment. In fact, there was an entire row of buildings in construction on the street. It was why he had chosen the location for the meeting – it was out of the way and wouldn’t put any innocent bystanders in danger. The eerie quietness was off-putting though.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he told Emma.
He glanced at his watch. It was still a few minutes to seven.
She looked around nervously. “I’m starting to come to the same conclusion.”
“Then go, I got this.”
“No way, Donnie. We’re in this together.”
“It’s too dangerous. There could be an ambush.”
He looked up and scanned the area. He didn’t think there would be a sniper. With all the scaffolding, there was too much obstruction for a clean shot.
“It was your idea,” she said.
“Me being here alone, yes, that was my idea. You tagging along isn’t smart. No offense, but you look like Bambi, okay? You look like… well, you look like a nun.”
“That’s why it’s going to work.”
She winked at him and patted his shoulder. They continued strolling around aimlessly.
Damn, she was picking up this cop life quickly. But she was right. This whole thing was based on appearing harmless. They might even be here for nothing.
They were working under the assumption that Sergeant Bobby Knuth was indeed the mole. A search had revealed that he was in fact the brother of Michael Knuth. They still needed to make sure that this paralegal was indeed the middleman for Wallenberg’s murders, but what would happen tonight would confirm it one way or another.
Knuth would surely get the memo after Emma had pretended to receive an anonymous tip. He and Wallenberg would jump at the chance to take out the source claiming to know all about the assassination. He would come after Donnie.
And Donnie would need to take him down before he got himself killed.
He’d had a private conversation with Galfy, so the whole task force wouldn’t hear of it, and they had agreed to have a tactical team nearby. But Donnie had insisted on it being at least five blocks away because Wallenberg was a professional. They couldn’t risk spooking him. So now they were alone, waiting for an assassin.
He glanced at his watch one more time. Two minutes to go.
~ ~ ~ ~
If Colm felt like a burglar it was because he had become one.
It was the middle of the night in Vatican City – almost three o’clock in the morning – and he was sneaking into Cardinal Blanchet’s office.
Gaining access was easy since he often came after hours to do the man’s bidding, whether it was picking up files he had forgotten or setting things up so everything would be ready the next morning.
But now the reasons for him being here were in complete opposition to Blanchet’s role in the Church. He was essentially committing acts of espionage, maybe treason if such a thing existed in the Holy See.
As he entered the spacious office, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he realized this was childish. If it was normal for him to be here, why couldn’t he simply turn on the light?
He reasoned that it was because it felt morally wrong to do this. On the other hand, he was doing the right thing. He knew it in his heart.
As a compromise, he made sure the thick velvet drapes were pulled shut and then turned on the desk lamp. But as he did so, he noticed that the one thing he was here for wasn’t there. His boss’s laptop wasn’t on the desk as it usually was.
No!
He looked left and right searching for it. It wasn’t on the couch or on the coffee table. He even looked on the floor, but it wasn’t there. It couldn’t be! Blanchet never took that computer home.
So what did that mean? Did it signify that the cardinal didn’t want Colm to have access to his files? Did he suspect him of spying on him?
He needed to think about this. Maybe he could return in the morning, wait until the old man went to the bathroom, and then sneak to the computer. Yes, that sounded like the smart thing to do.
He was about to leave when he glanced down. The desk had two drawers and the big one at the bottom was locked. In the years he had worked for Blanchet, it had never been locked before.
He reached for the letter opener on the desk.
~ ~ ~ ~
Cardinal Blanchet woke up with a splitting headache. The phone ringing next to him did him no favors. He sighed, cursed under his breath, and pushed the blankets off of him.
“Yes?” he answered groggily and with little patience.
“He’s in your office.” It was the man in the blue jacket.
“My God!” Blanchet whispered, suddenly soberer than ever. “Couldn’t you stop him?”
This couldn’t be happening. His worst fears were coming true. With the conclave so close, he couldn’t let anything happen to jeopardize his chances of his being elected as the next Pope.
“There are security cameras in that building, Your Eminence. The best I can do…”
“What?”
“I can alert the police and have him arrested.”
The cardinal thought about this. If O’Dwyer was officially taken in, there would be a paper trail. People would know that he’s a thief and a spy. It wouldn’t be difficult to discredit him if he revealed any sensitive information.
He then vowed to learn about computers to protect himself next time. Damn that ungodly technology!
&n
bsp; “Do it. Send the police after him.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The letter opener wasn’t the best way to jimmy the drawer open, but the lock eventually gave out.
Yes…
Colm was certain that his heart was about to leap out of his chest when he saw the laptop sitting on the bottom. In a hurry to get out of here and pretend this entire episode hadn’t happened, he pulled it out and placed it on the desk.
He booted the computer and it took an eternity. Come on, come on!
But then it was ready. He searched for San Marino letter and that yielded no results. Next he typed simply San Marino, but again, nothing.
Cardinal Blanchet had evidently named the file something else, if it was even still here. Colm had to consider the possibility that the San Marino letter had been destroyed a long time ago.
And this gave him an idea. He searched the computer by document dates. The San Marino meeting had taken place a month ago so it was a good place to start.
Controlling his breathing, he looked at the dates and document types. That’s when he found it. It was a PDF file labeled SMdoc01. He pulled it up and sure enough it was it! At the very top was the coat of arms of Pope Callixtus IV. He read the first two paragraphs and confirmed that this was it, the document proposing that the Vatican relieved struggling nations from their national debts.
The document that had gotten the Pope killed.
Without reading more, he emailed himself the file and immediately forwarded it to Sister Emma. She would know what to do with it.
He was about to put the laptop back in the drawer when he had an idea. He continued rummaging through the hard drive, having no clue that the police were on their way.
Chapter 50
Doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t nervous, Donnie pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt to look at his watch. It was seven o’clock. The meeting could happen at any moment now.
Unless they were both shot in the back from a distance.
There was a muted buzzing sound and Donnie was startled. He had to restrain himself for reaching for his gun. It took a second to realize it was Emma’s phone.
“It’s an email,” she said, lifting the phone up to her face.
“Let me guess, a Nigerian prince. I get nine of those a day.”
“No, it’s from my friend, Father Colm O’Dwyer. Oh my, he came through!”
“Through what? Through the fabric of time and space?”
She ignored the quip and started reading. She had given Donnie a quick rundown before of the San Marino connection and how Colm had vowed to give them proof.
“This is it,” she whispered, not looking up from the small screen. “This is the actual San Marino letter.”
“And? Does it actually prove the who and why of it all? Does it give us the killer’s name in big fat letters?”
Glancing over her shoulder, he saw that she went back to the beginning and read it again.
“It’s like Colm said. The Pope wished for the Vatican to pay off some countries’ debt, mostly in Africa. He’s suggesting that Church funds and assets be divested to do this.”
“I can see why some people might be upset,” Donnie said, recalling what Emma had told him earlier about the power struggle at the Vatican.
Emma was shaking her head in disbelief. “There’s more. There’s an addendum and it lists private investment banks that are handling the Church’s investments. They’re in London, Rome, Tokyo, and…”
“And what?”
“And even here in New York City. The biggest manager of Vatican investments is right here, Quasney Olympus Financial.”
Donnie looked at her, realization dawning on him. “Jesus, this goes a lot deeper than just Church money.”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you know how much cash investment banks make off of their clients? Your average hedge fund takes three percent off the top and keeps like thirty percent of all profits. If the Vatican pulls its money out, these Wall Street suits are gonna lose billions. Say goodbye to your yachts and trophy wives, gentlemen.”
Emma looked at him. “And people would kill the Pope to keep that from happening?”
“Emma, I’ve seen people killed over a hundred-dollar bar tab. You bet your ass this is why the Pope got assassinated.”
Despite the loud hum of the city, the sound of crunching gravel was unmistakable and Donnie spun to his left.
Thirty feet away, a man was coming around a concrete pillar. Squinting, he saw that it was US Secret Service Special Agent Skip Wallenberg.
The assassin.
In his hands was a pistol with a sound suppressor screwed in. It was pointed in their direction and slowly the man came toward them.
Instinctively, Donnie wanted to draw his own weapon, but it took less than a second to realize that this was the surest way to get killed. Clearly, Wallenberg didn’t want them dead yet, otherwise he would have shot them before revealing himself. That meant he wanted something from them.
This was their only hope to stay alive.
“Good evening, Detective.”
The man took deliberate steps as he approached, his weapon at eye level and aimed forward. His grip was two-handed, very stable and professional.
“You sneak up good,” Donnie said. “You remind me of an old girlfriend of mine.”
“Second Rangers, recon platoon. You pick up a few things. I want the both of you to put your hands up. No sudden moves.”
Slowly, Donnie opened his hands in a nonthreatening manner and raised his arms. Emma followed his lead, doing the same.
“Before we go any further, Skip, it’s probably best that I read you your rights. I’m pretty sure you know them already, but it’s part of the job, okay? They pay me for this, I gotta do it. I mean, you know you’re under arrest, right? We know you killed Matthijs Vermote, a.k.a. Pope Callixtus IV.”
Wallenberg kept advancing. He was fifteen feet away now.
“You’re hilarious. A few more minutes here and they’ll never see me again. Where is your source?”
“My what?”
“The source meeting you here tonight to tell you about this whole conspiracy business. Where is he?”
Donnie pursed his lips. “Oh, that source! Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
“With all due respect, Detective, I’m the guy with the gun pointed at your head. I’m the guy who decides what is or is not going to happen.”
“Fair enough, I totally understand. But here’s the thing, there is no source. We just leaked this info to the task force hoping it would get back to you. It’s a good thing that Sergeant Knuth with the Transit Bureau was on the ball with this one.”
“Shit…” Wallenberg spat.
“It’s him, isn’t it? His brother is a paralegal who also happens to get murder-for-hire jobs for you, using the building janitor as a courier and cutout. It wasn’t a bad plan.”
The man was fuming. His jaw tightened and even through the dim lighting it was obvious that his eyes blackened. But then he smiled.
“Really clever, Beecher. Definitely more clever than your brother ever was. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, was he? How many layers of stupid do you have to be to get tricked into going into a dark office with a Catholic priest anyway?”
It was Donnie’s turn to feel rage. How dare he talk about his brother this way? He’d been just a kid, for chrissakes! Then he realized Wallenberg was simply goading him. He couldn’t take the bait.
“So nobody is coming after all?” the assassin asked. “It’s just the two of you?”
“Afraid so.”
The man was gearing up to kill them. Donnie had considered the possibility of this happening, but it hadn’t been real until now.
Having expected to be searched, neither he nor Emma had accepted to wear a wire. Donnie had been certain that if anything bad happened he’d have the time to thumb his phone and alert Galfy.
He started looking around, trying to find somet
hing – anything – to turn the situation to his advantage. His eyes caught movement near the street. There was a homeless man. Long hair, mangy beard, dirty clothes. He was shuffling aimlessly, obviously intoxicated.
Not only was he useless to them, but Donnie hated himself for not having swept the area better first. Now this poor guy was likely to get shot just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He had to pull attention away from him so that at least one person would come out alive.
“What now, Skippy? You’re just gonna shoot the both of us and be on your merry way?”
“Something like that.”
Emma shuddered at these words, but otherwise remained silent.
“How does somebody become an assassin anyway? Is there a class you can take? Night school, University of Phoenix, something like that?”
Wallenberg grinned. “It’s just a hobby I do for fun. The money is good, I won’t deny that, but being a federal agent turns out to be boring as shit. Killing people keeps me on my toes.”
“Okay so like CrossFit? Is that it?”
“Don’t try to act like I haven’t been doing you favors, Beecher. The people I’m paid to kill are lowlifes and drug dealers and mob guys. I’m doing society a favor.”
“What about the Pope?”
“Hey, my average is still not that bad.”
Wallenberg extended his arm. The kill shot was coming.
“Who hired you to get the Pope?” Donnie asked, quickly racking his brain for something to ask, anything to delay the inevitable. “Who’s behind all of this?”
“Enough chitchat, Beecher. It’s time for the both of you to die.”
Wallenberg’s finger applied pressure to the trigger.
Chapter 51
The door to Cardinal Blanchet’s office rattled.
“Gendarmeria!” a gruff voice shouted. “Apri la porta! Andiamo!”
Colm looked at the door, but tried not to get fazed by it. After all, it was only the police and they wanted to come in. What was there to worry about?
He turned back to the computer screen and continued scrolling down. They started banging on the door. It was only a matter of time before they decided to break it down.
